


curled up in fright

by biblionerd07



Series: broad-shouldered beasts [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Glasses, Guns, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one constant in Mickey's life has been the fear of his father. It makes sense that now that Mickey's life feels like it's finally on track, Terry pops back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	curled up in fright

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my earlier fic "wrapped up in wire." You can read this separately, probably, but there are some references to the first part. Shout out to [LanJevinson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LanJevinson/pseuds/LanJevinson), who is an Actual Professional and clued me in that Yevgeny's English would not be broken like that, so here it is only regular-child-broken. Sorry for the lack of continuity, but lbr, it's nothing worse than canon.

“Dad?”

Mickey sighs and doesn’t open his eyes. On the list of things that make him a terrible father, this is probably pretty fucking mild, but he still feels a little bad. But he just can’t do it yet. He’s so tired. He hardly slept last night.

“ _Dad_ ,” the whisper gets harsher. And louder. Mickey wrenches his eyes open.

“What?” He whispers back, hardly making a sound.

Now that he sees Mickey’s awake, Yevgeny comes closer. He’s doing a good job of not touching Mickey until Mickey’s actually got his eyes open and looking at him, which has done wonders for Mickey’s peace of mind. Mickey’s first response upon being woken up is usually to lash out, and he’s kind of trying not to do that to his kid again.

“Can I cross off today?” Yevgeny asks in a six-year-old version of a whisper, which is pretty fucking loud. The arm around Mickey’s waist tightens and Mickey sighs.

“You awake?” He asks over his shoulder. Ian grumbles, but the answer is clearly yes. Mickey had been hoping to let him sleep a bit longer. He’d gotten off his shift last night at midnight after a multi-victim stabbing kept him hours later than expected. Mickey hadn’t gotten home from the club until two, and Ian was still awake, waiting up for him. If Yevgeny’s in here, it means it’s barely seven.

Mickey gets edgy when Ian doesn’t get his sleep.

“Sorry,” Mickey mumbles at him. He slides out from under Ian’s arm and ignores the little noise of protest Ian makes. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers, leaning down to brush his lips across Ian’s forehead.

Yevgeny takes Mickey’s hand immediately, pulling him toward the door, but he at least waits to speak again until Mickey’s quietly closed the bedroom door behind them.

“Mama said I had to ask you if it was okay,” he reports. “I wanna cross today off!”

“Okay, come on,” Mickey acquiesces, still not totally awake. It’s 6:45 on a fucking Sunday. It’s criminal that he’s not still sleeping. Kids are fucking assholes.

Yevgeny scrambles up on a chair and Mickey hands over the “special marker” for his calendar. Time goes so much faster outside of prison, and sometimes Mickey gets a little freaked out about it. Crossing off the days helps, and Yevgeny’s obsessed with _helping_ Mickey. Mickey has to watch him though, because he gets trigger-happy and will cross days off with abandon. He once crossed off two weeks in one go and left both Ian and Mickey unsure if they’d missed time until Svetlana made him white-out the X’s.

“Just today,” Mickey reminds him around a yawn, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Where’s your mom?”

“Still sleeping.”

Mickey harrumphs a few unkind words under his breath about that, even though technically it’s pretty fair considering all the years Mickey wasn’t there to be woken up early. And the months he _was_ there and just avoided any baby duty.

Heh. And baby _doody_.

“I did it!” Yevgeny crows, like making a fucking X in a box is a big deal. He doesn’t seem to catch Mickey’s sarcasm when he claps and instead preens. “Pancakes?” He asks.

“No,” Mickey growls. He might be a little petulant about being the only person over the age of six awake right now.

Yevgeny’s mouth drops open in shock. “No?” He echoes.

“Yes,” Ian says, coming out of the bedroom. Mickey gives him a dirty look.

“Told you to go back to sleep,” he points out.

“Well, the bed was all big and cold without my teddy bear,” Ian teases, coming closer and snaking his arms around Mickey’s waist. Mickey makes a face.

“Gross.”

“Dad’s a teddy bear?” Yevgeny asks, wrinkling his nose. Ian cracks up, because he’s an asshole who thinks it’s funny to make sexual innuendos around poor, innocent children who will probably repeat it at school so their poor, innocent fathers get horrified looks.

“Well, he’s pretty cuddly, isn’t he?” Ian asks. Yevgeny tips his head to the side, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Not really…” He says, almost a question. Ian laughs again and Mickey digs his fingers into Ian’s ribs in retaliation.

“You’re making pancakes,” Mickey tells him. “Since you promised ‘em.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian swats Mickey on the ass as Mickey heads toward the bathroom and Mickey throws him a middle finger.

“Dad!” Yevgeny scolds. Mickey rolls his eyes.

It’s been about two months since Mickey agreed to give Ian another shot (after his other shot), and Ian doesn’t stay over every night—at the very least, he has to work overnight when the shifts change—but he does stay weekends whenever he’s not working. In theory, it would be great to sleep in together, maybe have some lazy morning sex.

Instead, they’re up with the sun even when they don’t have to be.

Still, Mickey reflects once he’s taken a piss and walks back into the kitchen to see Yevgeny standing on a chair to help Ian flip pancakes, the two of them with bedhead and laughing at something Ian just said, it’s not so bad.

“Dad, I made you a special pancake!” Yevgeny tells him excitedly. Mickey gives Ian a look. Ian shrugs innocently, but he’s got that dumb look on his face that means he’s trying not to laugh. Mickey peeks over Yevgeny’s shoulder and sees a sloppy happy-face made out of blueberries.

“Blueberries?” He asks. “What about my fucking chocolate chips?”

“Mama says too much chocolate chips is bad for you!” Yevgeny chirps. Jesus, he’s so perky in the mornings. Mickey thought kids were supposed to be all grumpy and shit. He can’t wait for that to hit.

“Speaking of Mama, let’s keep it down,” Ian suggests. “We should let her sleep in.”

“ _I_ wanted to sleep in,” Mickey grumbles, but he makes sure not to rattle the dishes when he pulls out plates.

“Don’t be a baby,” Ian says. Yevgeny laughs.

“Yeah, don’t be a baby!”

Mickey groans and slumps on the table. “It’s too fucking early for you both to be ganging up on me.”

They eat their pancakes, and Ian makes sure to leave a stack for Svetlana, covered in foil to stay warm. She doesn’t come out until they’ve done all the dishes, which Mickey is willing to bet was intentional, but whatever.

“Mm, pancakes,” she says, giving Mickey a wicked little grin that confirms his suspicions.

“We made them for you, Mama!” Yevgeny says, like he actually helped instead of just standing on a chair getting in Ian’s way.

“Thank you,” Svetlana says, dropping a kiss into Yevgeny’s hair and then onto Ian’s cheek. “My favorite boys.”

“What about Dad?” Yevgeny asks worriedly.

“Yes, him too,” Svetlana promises, grabbing Mickey’s face and kissing his cheek too.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey grouses, and she hip-checks him for being grumpy. Someone knocks on the door and they look at each other.

“You expecting someone?” Mickey asks. Svetlana shakes her head. Mickey tries to quell the anxiety that rises up in his stomach. Someone unexpected at the door on a Sunday morning isn’t anything to freak out about. It’s fine.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t check the peephole in the door first.

Mickey blows out an exasperated breath when he sees who’s outside. It’s his parole officer. He opens the door. “Really, Hawkins?” He asks. “8 am on a Sunday?”

“Surprise, surprise,” Hawkins drawls. “Piss test time.” He pushes past Mickey to get inside.

“Oh, yeah, come on in,” Mickey mutters.

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” Hawkins says, looking into the kitchen. He actually looks like he kind of means it. “We’re making the rounds today.”

“This is twice in one week,” Mickey complains, leading Hawkins down the hall to the bathroom. “I was just in your office on Tuesday.”

“Hey, you know the drill,” he says. “Random testing any time, any day.” He holds out the cup.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Yevgeny asks. Mickey jumps a little. Kid’s like a fucking ninja or something, running around so quiet all the time.

“I gotta pee in this cup,” Mickey tells him. Yevgeny wrinkles his nose.

“Ew, why?”

“To make sure he’s not doing drugs,” Hawkins cuts in.

“That’s what happens when you get out of prison.” Mickey unbuckles his belt and Yevgeny watches interestedly. “Nope,” Mickey says, pushing lightly at Yevgeny’s back. “Don’t need you watching me. I already got one dude eyeing me and that’s enough.”

“Yev, come here!” Ian calls down the hall. “I need your help with something.”

Yevgeny looks stubborn for a minute, like he’s going to push so he can watch Mickey piss in front of his PO, but his desire to do anything Ian asks wins out and he rushes back to the kitchen. Mickey shakes his head.

“Hey, enjoy the show,” he tells Hawkins as he unzips his pants. Hawkins rolls his eyes. They do the routine with Hawkins dipping his test into Mickey’s pee, and seriously, doesn’t the dude ever get tired of that?

“Congratulations,” Hawkins says. “You passed.”

Mickey gives him jazz hands. “Yeah, just like every other fucking time.”

“Look, you know why I test you a lot, right?”

“Because you like my dick?”

Hawkins gives Mickey a warning look. “Because your last name’s a bit infamous.” Mickey twitches a little. Yeah, he knows that. It’s not his fault. Or, well, not _entirely_ his fault. Not even _mostly_ his fault.

“Speaking of which, stay away from your old man.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mickey says. “Even if I had some kind of amnesia and forgot what a fucking sadistic prick he is, last I heard he’s inside again.”

“Yeah, he was,” Hawkins says. “He got out yesterday.”

For Mickey’s entire life, the news that his father’s been released has sent chills down his spine. Today’s no different. He even flinches, which he fucking hates himself for doing in front of this asshole.

“Oh shit, you didn’t know that?” Hawkins asks.

Mickey’s working on keeping his breathing under control. “Hey, you can’t give out my information, right?”

“If it’s necessary, I can,” Hawkins says. He must catch the panic in Mickey’s eyes, because he adds, “To law enforcement or a judge. Not to just anyone.”

“Don’t, uh.” Mickey has to clear his throat. “Is there a way to make sure he can’t find us?” He balls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

Hawkins looks at Mickey for a long, uncomfortable minute before crossing his arms over his chest. “You could get a protection order.”

“Don’t I have to go to court to do that?” Mickey asks. “The whole point is that he _doesn’t_ see me. And anyway, since when’s he cared what the court tells him to do?”

Hawkins nods. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect you’d be avoiding him like this. Thought you Milkoviches stuck together.”

“Yeah, well, considering he tried to murder me last time I saw him, I’m not exactly running back to him with open arms,” Mickey snaps. “And I sure as hell don’t want him anywhere near my kid.”

Hawkins kind of smiles, which doesn’t make any fucking sense until he says, “I’m proud of you, Mickey.” It’s like some kind of fucking Hallmark moment and it makes Mickey twitch.

“Yeah, whatever, can you help me or not?”

Hawkins shrugs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It’s a non-answer, and Mickey should’ve known no one involved with the police was ever going to do shit for him. He shakes his head and starts to leave the room when Hawkins stops him.

“What’d he try to kill you for?” Hawkins asks. “Assuming he needs a reason for anything he does.”

Mickey bites his lip, holding back from saying _mind your own fucking business_. Mickey’s life pretty much _is_ his business. Besides, Mickey’s trying this whole not-being-ashamed thing. It’s not that he’s ashamed so much as terrified, generally speaking, but his biggest fear was always his dad finding out and that ship sailed out in high fashion.

“Uh,” Mickey says. “That redhead out there.” Hawkins doesn’t get it. He just looks confused and Mickey wants to swear at him. “We’re fucking,” he says, losing patience. It’s always been easier to classify it that way instead of involving feelings and shit. “Been fucking since we were teenagers. My dad wasn’t real happy about it.”

To say Hawkins looks surprised would be an understatement. “You—you’re…”

“Yep,” Mickey cuts him off.

“Okay,” Hawkins says. Mickey glares at him.

“You got something to say?”

“Hey, watch it,” Hawkins warns. “We don’t discriminate based on race, religion, gender, or sexuality.”

Mickey snorts. “What is that, some sensitivity training shit?”

Hawkins actually laughs a little. “Yeah,” he admits. “But it’s still true.”

Mickey shrugs. “Alright.”

Neither of them say anything, and then Hawkins heads for the hallway. “I’ll see what I can do,” he repeats. “He’s got house arrest for a while since he’s violated parole so many times. Ankle monitor and everything. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Thanks,” Mickey says, actually sort of touched despite himself.

“You’re doing good,” Hawkins says. “Maybe I just want to be the PO who finally got a Milkovich to successfully reenter society.”

Mickey scoffs. “What, there a betting pool in the office or something?”

Hawkins winks. “Maybe.” He waves goodbye to Ian, Svetlana, and Yevgeny. Yevgeny’s sitting in Svetlana’s lap, looking upset, and Mickey feels bad that it’s mostly his fault, but he’s too freaked out about Terry to really do anything about it.

“Mick?” Ian asks. “What’s going on?”

“Did you fail test?” Svetlana asks severely.

“What? No,” Mickey says. “He just told me…” Mickey takes a deep breath. “My dad got parole again.”

“Shit,” Ian breathes.

“He will not come near us,” Svetlana says.

“He won’t?” Mickey asks.

“He better not,” she clarifies. “If he touches Yevgeny, I will kill him.”

Yevgeny’s eyes are huge in his head. “Mama, you’re going to kill someone?”

“Only if I must,” she promises, which doesn’t make him settle down at all.

“Jesus, calm down,” Mickey says, like he’s not still shaking. “Hawkins said he’d keep an eye out.”

Svetlana and Ian both look at him strange. “You asked your PO to protect us?” Ian asks.

Mickey shrugs. “It’s his job, isn’t it? If I die he can’t win the office pool on whether or not I break parole.”

Svetlana shakes her head. “If you break parole you will not go back to prison,” she says. She glances down at Yevgeny and covers his ears. “I will kill you.”

“Would you please stop threatening to kill people?” Mickey asks. It sort of feels like old times and he thinks it’s probably a weird thing to get nostalgic about.

Yevgeny bats at Svetlana’s hands. “Killing is bad,” he reminds everyone.

“That’s right,” Ian agrees. Under his breath, he adds, “Though if I _was_ going to kill anyone it’d probably be Terry.”

Mickey flaps a hand at him to make him shut the fuck up. “Kid, go get your shoes,” he says. “Let’s go to the park.”

“Is that safe?” Ian asks. Yevgeny doesn’t bother waiting; he scrambles down and runs for his room.

“He got out yesterday,” Mickey points out. “There’s no way he’s sober enough to even think about coming after me.”

“Good point,” Ian says. He turns to Svetlana. “You coming with us or you gonna take the house to yourself?”

“Coming with you,” she declares. “Just in case.”

“What, you think I can’t fucking protect him?” Mickey asks defensively.

“Maybe I want crack at him myself,” Svetlana says, patting his cheek a little before flouncing off. Ian’s grinning at him, though, one of those dumb grins that means he’s going to get all mushy.

“She loves you,” he says.

“Jesus, you and that word,” Mickey says.

Ian raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t the one who said it first,” he points out.

“Oh my God,” Mickey fires back. “You really want to bring _that_ up?”

“No,” Ian admits, looking a little abashed. “What did Hawkins say when you asked him to protect us?”

“I didn’t ask him to protect us,” Mickey protests. “Just asked him to keep an eye out.”

“And?” Ian prompts.

“He wanted to know why Terry wants to kill me.”

“And?” Ian repeats. Mickey can feel his ears getting hot.

“And I told him,” Mickey says with a shrug. “Told him it’s all your fault. Your dick’s fault, anyway.”

Ian laughs, and he pulls Mickey in closer. “You told him about us, huh? You’re getting so chatty about it.”

Mickey snorts, but he doesn’t bother even pretending to pull away from Ian. “Well, Jesus, I’ve got your name inked over my fucking heart. Not much point trying to hide it.” It feels like a stupid thing to say, but Ian’s whole face lights up with one of those smiles that’ve made Mickey’s breath catch for far longer than he’d care to admit.

“So sentimental,” Ian teases, brushing his lips against Mickey’s. “But that’s not _really_ where your heart is.” He slides his hand down Mickey’s chest and taps the right spot. “It’s right here.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me for not getting my homemade prison tattoo in the right place. Fuck you,” Mickey says, even though he’s laughing a little bit. “I probably would’ve punctured something and died.”

“It did look pretty infected when I saw it.”

It’s kind of weird, how they can talk about shit like that. The old days. Shit that happened, shit they put each other through. It’s not like some of it still doesn’t hurt—remembering Ian’s reaction to seeing one of Mickey’s boldest statements of his feelings still stings a little, even though it shouldn’t anymore—but they can laugh about some of it.

“I’m ready,” Yevgeny announces. He has his shoes on but the laces are just tucked in, not tied, because he’s still terrible at tying them. He’s also not wearing a coat. Mickey gives him an unimpressed look.

“You’re not ready,” he counters. “Get your coat, at least. If you don’t wanna tie your shoes, you can wear the Velcro ones.”

“Velcro is for babies!” Yevgeny bursts out.

“Well, then, tie your fucking shoelaces,” Mickey says with a shrug. Yevgeny stomps around for a bit, but Mickey just goes to put real pants on and find his own shoes. When he comes back out, Yevgeny is sitting in Ian’s lap on the floor, and Ian is patiently helping him go through the motions of tying his shoes for the ten millionth time. Mickey’s not sure, but he thinks the kid should be able to do this already. He’s pretty sure he was tying his own shoes at six. Then again, his punishment was usually a smack to the face, not Velcro, so maybe he had more motivation.

Mickey doesn’t really have the patience to teach Yevgeny over and over again and work through the inevitable knots he puts in the laces. He wishes he did, he really does, but he just does not. Svetlana is a master at getting the knots out, and Ian will sit there for forty-five minutes using this quiet, soothing voice he must’ve picked up from being in a family that actually cared about the ten million kids running around.

It gives Mickey a pit in his stomach, sometimes, if he stops and thinks about it too much—that this patience is something his kid needs that he can’t give him—but mostly he’s just glad Ian’s there to do it.

“Dad, look!” Yevgeny says, all excited even though he was mad at Mickey not five minutes ago. “Ian helped me and I _did_ it!”

“Hey, nice job,” Mickey praises, because last week in parenting class they learned about validation and all that shit. Judging by the way Yevgeny lights up like a fucking sunbeam, the teacher might not have been pulling it all out of her ass. “Ian’s gonna get his shit ready to go and your mom’s coming, too.”

“This is gonna be so fun,” Yevgeny comments, standing up to lean against Mickey’s legs while they wait.

“Where’s your coat?” Mickey asks.

“I don’t want it.”

“Too bad,” Mickey says. “It’s cold outside.”

“Dad,” Yevgeny whines.

“You can skip the scarf, but you’re wearing a coat.”

Yevgeny heaves a put-upon sigh but obligingly goes back to his room and comes back wearing his coat. Mickey lets him lean against his legs without complaining and even runs his fingers through Yevgeny’s thick hair as a reward. The kid loves getting his hair played with, but doing it too much makes Mickey feel weird.

By the time they get out the door and walk to the park, Mickey’s less anxious and kind of regretting this little excursion, but Yevgeny’s running around like he’s been cooped up all day and he’s chattering at high speed, half in English and half in Russian to tell Svetlana secret jokes to make her laugh, and Mickey can’t be too unhappy.

Ian links their gloved hands together, and it only takes Mickey a few seconds to calm down about it. They all take turns pushing Yevgeny on the swing, because the kid’s fucking addicted to swinging.

Eventually, the four of them end up in the dirty, slushy remains of the last snow that’s clinging to the grass, supposedly making snow angels or some shit but really just lying there on their backs, and Mickey feels _happy_. Maybe, he thinks, things won’t be so bad. Maybe Terry won’t find them.

Looking back on it later, he’ll wonder why the fuck he ever thought he deserved to be so hopeful.

 

Mickey’s feeling a little sluggish, slow to get started, but he needs to get the lead out because Yevgeny won’t leave for school until Mickey’s eaten breakfast with him and Svetlana has to drop him off right on time or she’ll be late for work.

It’s Wednesday, and Ian’s back to working the early morning shift so he hasn’t stayed the night since Monday. Mickey’s annoyed with himself for being such a pussy about it. He’d had trouble _sleeping_ last night, for Christ’s sake.

“Bye, Dad!” Yevgeny says, running over for his goodbye hug. If someone had told Mickey at sixteen that one day he’d have a kid who he hugged a minimum of three times a day, he would’ve probably punched them in the throat, but here he is.

“Have a good day,” Mickey says, dropping a quick kiss in Yevgeny’s hair. “I’ll see you after school. We’re picking up your glasses.”

Yevgeny scowls as he follows Svetlana out the door. Apparently, the school does eye testing every year, and Yevgeny failed his miserably. On the plus side, it probably accounts for how shitty he’s doing in school, at least partially, so Mickey thinks they might be off the teacher’s list of lowlife parents who don’t care.

Though they hadn’t known the kid was practically blind, so maybe not.

Yevgeny is not thrilled about the prospect of wearing glasses. Lip tried telling him it would make him look smart, but he’d been unimpressed. Mickey can’t help but be a little pleased that his kid didn’t care what Lip had to say.

Mickey cuts himself shaving and burns his tongue on his coffee, and he’s swearing and fuming by the time he’s heading out the door. His phone buzzes and he glances at it quickly.

_Firecrotch: Have a good day! :)_

Mickey rolls his eyes. If the corners of his lips are tugging upwards, well, there’s no one here to see it, and he’ll deny it to his dying day.

He’s minding his own business, putting away baby food and remembering briefly when Yevgeny used to eat this shit—he’d always loved peas, which Mickey thinks is fucking weird—when he spots Iggy in the store. Fear grips Mickey’s stomach hard, and he hides behind the ladder for a second, breathing hard.

“Mickey?” Iggy asks. “I heard you were out but I didn’t know if it was true.”

“Hey,” Mickey says, proud of how strong his voice is.

“You didn’t tell none of us you were getting out,” Iggy says, and he almost sounds hurt. “We couldn’t throw you a party.”

It throws Mickey for a loop, the thought that they’d throw him a party, but then again, they always did for Terry. “Well, I didn’t know who’d be around,” he says. Subtlety has never been Iggy’s strong suit, so he tips his head to the side, confused. “I didn’t know Dad was inside when I got out,” Mickey explains. “Didn’t think he’d be too happy to see me.”

“Oh, right, because of the fairy thing.” Iggy nods and Mickey can’t help but scan the aisle, wonder if anyone in the next aisle over heard them. “Yeah, he’s out now and he found out _you’re_ out and he keeps saying he’s gonna kill you.”

“Great,” Mickey says, mouth going so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

“You work here now?” Iggy asks, finally taking in Mickey’s dumb apron. Mickey’s heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

“Yeah,” Mickey admits, because there’s no use denying it. Even Iggy can work out that Mickey wearing an apron and unloading boxes onto the shelves means he works there.

“Wow, above the table and everything?” Iggy actually sounds kind of impressed.

“I’m on parole,” Mickey points out. “Had to get a real job.”

Iggy snorts. “Dad never did.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying not to go back.” There’s an awkward silence, and Mickey wonders if he can ask Iggy not to tell Terry where he works. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, the thought won’t even cross Iggy’s mind, and it’ll filter out of his brain like so many other small details seem to do.

“I won’t tell Dad,” Iggy says, like he knows what Mickey’s thinking. “I didn’t mind your fag boyfriend before he went crazy.”

“Don’t fucking call him crazy,” Mickey defends Ian automatically. “He’s fine. He’s an EMT now.”

“You still with him?” Iggy asks, surprised. “Can’t believe he waited around for your ass.”

 _He didn’t_ , Mickey doesn’t say. He just shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m irresistible.”

Iggy laughs harder than is polite, and Mickey rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m going on a run next week,” Iggy tells him. “Could cut you in if you want. Dad’s not coming.”

Mickey shifts uncomfortably. He could use the money, in all honesty. Stocking shelves part-time and busting heads on the weekend doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Not that Svetlana asks him to pitch in. But Mickey doesn’t like living off pity, and he’d like to have some money in case he ever wants to move out of his ex-wife’s house.

But he shakes his head. “No thanks, man,” he says. “Svetlana would have my ass. Wouldn’t let me see the kid anymore.”

“Shit, I forgot about your wife and kid,” Iggy says, making Mickey roll his eyes for what seems like the eightieth time during this conversation. He sort of forgot how frustrating it is to talk to Iggy about anything that isn’t crime or porn.

“Ex-wife,” Mickey says, because maybe getting divorced is the kind of big news you’re supposed to tell your brother. Even if he never came to see you while you were in prison for six years. To be fair, Mickey reminds himself, Iggy was probably in jail a few times during those years, too.

“Shit, man, sorry,” Iggy says. Mickey shakes his head a little, because he sometimes can’t believe how truly fucking oblivious Iggy is. Mickey had been surprised, a little, when the lawyers came with the divorce papers, but he hadn’t exactly been sad about it. Svetlana had still come once a month with the kid and didn’t even ask for child support or alimony, so what did Mickey care?

“Well, I’m getting my beer and going,” Iggy says. “See you around.”

“Bye,” Mickey says. “Hey, uh, Igs, you think you could get me a piece?” It’s a parole violation, and if Hawkins finds out Mickey’s fucked, but there’s no way in hell he’s going around unarmed with Terry on the loose.

Iggy raises his eyebrows. “Course I can,” he says disdainfully. “What you thinking?”

Mickey shrugs. “That old .22 I had was good.”

Iggy nods. He didn’t remember Svetlana and Yevgeny, but he sure as hell hasn’t forgotten Mickey’s favorite gun. “The revolver?”

“Whatever.” Mickey shrugs. “Whatever you got.”

“Cool,” Iggy says. “Where you want me to bring it?”

Mickey hesitates. He doesn’t want Iggy knowing his address. It’s not that he thinks Iggy’ll rat him out, necessarily; it’s just that Iggy spends at least 85% of his life high and it’s not exactly difficult to get information out of him.

“You can bring it here,” Mickey says. “I work tomorrow, too. That enough time?”

“Yeah,” Iggy assures him. “Need the bullets, too?”

Mickey restrains himself from rolling his eyes yet again. “Yeah. How much is it gonna set me back?”

Now Iggy looks offended. “You don’t have to pay me,” he says. “We’re family. Think of it as a welcome home present.”

“Thanks,” Mickey says, surprised.

“But if you come to me for more, you’ll pay,” Iggy says, effectively ending the touchy-feely portion of their conversation.

“Got it,” Mickey says, actually laughing a little. They’re certainly not close or anything, but they are still brothers, for whatever that’s worth.

He’ll feel better when he has a gun. Hopefully he won’t have to use it, but it’ll be security. Protection. Safety.

 

Ian gasps when they walk in the front door. Yevgeny’s got his glasses on, and Mickey will never admit it but the kid looks _cute_. Mickey even took a picture and sent it to Svetlana.

“Yev!” Ian says. “You look great, buddy.”

“I don’t want to wear them!” Yevgeny bursts out. “I hate glasses.”

“Well, you can see, can’t you?” Mickey asks.

“Glasses are for pussies,” Yevgeny mutters. Ian shoots Mickey a dirty look, and Mickey can’t help but squirm a little. It’s _possible_ that some of his angry squinting is less for intimidation and more because things are small, and it’s _possible_ Ian’s been trying to get him to wear glasses, and it’s _possible_ he may have said that exact sentence. He didn’t know the kid would hear him. Nosy fucking eavesdropper.

“I love them,” Ian says firmly, crouching down to be at Yevgeny’s height. “You know who wears glasses?”

“Who?” Yevgeny asks, stepping closer and leaning into Ian.

“Superman.” Ian raises his eyebrows triumphantly. “Well, okay, Clark Kent, when he’s pretending _not_ to be Superman, but still.” Yevgeny takes a few seconds to ponder that and Ian looks over at Mickey. “Glasses are awesome, _right, Mickey_?”

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees, because it’s pretty clear that’s his only fucking choice if he ever wants to get Ian’s dick again. “They help you see shit.”

Yevgeny sighs, little shoulders slumping, and he tips his head to rest against Ian’s. “Brad makes fun of Izzy’s glasses.”

“Well, Brad sounds like a fuckhead,” Mickey says.

“How big’s Brad?” Ian asks.

“Bigger than me,” Yevgeny says glumly.

“Don’t let some kid named fucking _Brad_ talk you into not wearing your glasses,” Mickey says. “I’m sure you’re tougher than him.”

“Tough guys wear glasses,” Ian reassures Yevgeny. Yevgeny looks unconvinced. It’s making Mickey’s stomach hurt. He wants the kid to be able to see. But he doesn’t want him feeling bad about it.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Mickey says, and it’s stupid how hard his heart is pounding over this. “How ‘bout you wear your glasses and I’ll get some glasses and wear ‘em, too. Okay?”

Yevgeny’s eyes are wide, looking like fucking bug eyes behind the glasses, and Ian’s all lit up like a Christmas tree, like Mickey picking up a pair of shitty reading glasses from the dollar store’s some huge moment.

“You’ll wear glasses, too?” Yevgeny checks.

“Yeah, I got shitty eyes,” Mickey admits. “You probably got that from me.”

“Okay,” Yevgeny says. “When are you getting your glasses?”

“I’ll pick some up tomorrow at work,” Mickey promises. He rolls his eyes when Yevgeny sticks out his pinky, but he obligingly holds his out so they can curl their pinkies together and shake. Mickey doesn’t know who taught the kid this. Probably one of Ian’s siblings. They’re all about promises and blood pacts and shit.

“Go put your stuff away, okay?” Ian asks Yevgeny. “And pick your book for your dad to read to you.”

Yevgeny scampers off and Ian stands up, still grinning at Mickey wide enough to make Mickey’s heart skip a beat or two. So stupid. Mickey’s feeling pretty dumb about the whole thing, and Ian must be able to tell because he doesn’t say a word. It’s some kind of miracle. Instead, he just pulls Mickey in close by his belt loops and kisses him.

Mickey used to think kissing was a waste of time, a pussy move to get someone to sleep with you because your dick wasn’t enough. He’d kissed maybe three girls and each time left him mostly annoyed, thinking, _what’s the big deal_? Later, he realized maybe if he tried kissing guys—but he never let himself even _think_ about that for too long.

He kind of hates himself for thinking it, but the truth is—it’s different with Ian. From the first time Ian threw down the gauntlet, _he isn’t afraid to kiss me_ , Mickey knew this wasn’t some precursor to fucking. They were already fucking plenty. He’d spent _days_ agonizing over that stupid kiss in the van, and to be completely honest, it wasn’t even that great. Blink-and-you-miss-it, with Ian tasting like smoke and Flaming Hot Cheetos.

But the completely gobsmacked look on Ian’s face afterward—yeah. That had made a difference. And then Mickey had started finding reasons, _excuses_ , for why he needed to kiss Ian. Shotgunning some good weed, practicing mouth-to-mouth, whatever. Ian always knew what Mickey was doing, but he never made fun of him for it. And finally, by the time Mickey got to the point where he could enjoy a kiss just as a kiss, he was so far gone on Ian that no one else would’ve _ever_ been the same. The night Ian stayed over, before Terry caught them, they'd spent _hours_ on the couch, just making out, and Mickey had gained a real appreciation.

Mickey might be clinging to Ian a little tighter than usual, and Ian, of course, notices. Mickey getting clingy is _always_ of note to Ian, sometimes in a good way and sometimes, when it’s about Ian’s meds, not.

“What’s going on?” Ian asks. Mickey considers telling him to fuck off, but it’s mostly half-hearted habit. They made some promises to each other, _this time’s gonna be different_ , holding each other tight in the dark in Mickey’s room. They talk shit through. They don’t keep secrets. They read a _Communication for Couples_ book.

Well, Ian read it. But Mickey let Ian give him the highlights. Ian’s all into self-help books now, all about _finding your power_ and _releasing your full potential_. What the fuck ever. As long as he’s still taking his meds and going to his doctor, Mickey doesn’t care.

“I saw Iggy today,” Mickey tells him quietly. Last thing he needs is Yevgeny overhearing and asking ten million questions.

Ian sucks in a little breath. “You okay?” He’s looking right into Mickey’s eyes, not letting him dodge away. Mickey shrugs.

“Yeah, actually. Said he wouldn’t tell Dad where I work.” He flinches a little when he realizes he called Terry _dad_. He doesn’t usually do that anymore. Ian lets it go without comment, just keeps running his hand up and down Mickey’s arm.

Mickey has to tell him about the gun. He doesn’t know how Ian’s going to react, though. Ian’s got a weird moral compass. Stealing’s okay, but only for your family. Throwing cigarettes on the sidewalk is fine, but leaving chip bags outside is littering. Underage drinking is allowed in middle school but only beer until age 16. Shit like that.

Mickey can’t keep up. For his whole life, his only moral compass was doing what his dad told him to and beating down anyone Mandy told him needed beating down. These past few months of mostly following laws have been exhausting.

“He’s gonna get me a gun,” Mickey says, even quieter. Ian looks at him for a minute, and then he nods.

“Good idea,” he says. It feels like a weight’s lifted off Mickey’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if Ian protested. He doesn’t feel safe without a gun in the small of his back, but he sure as hell doesn’t want Ian pissed at him.

Neither of them say anything for a minute, and then Ian asks in a small voice, “You really think you’ll be able to shoot him?”

Mickey drops his head and buries it in Ian’s shoulder. He’s had plenty of opportunity to kill his father over the years. And he’s certainly had the motivation. But…

“I don’t know,” he whispers. It’s mostly lost in Ian’s shirt, but he knows Ian heard from the way Ian’s arms tighten around him. Ian kisses the top of Mickey’s head, like he’s Yevgeny waking up from a nightmare.

“It’s alright, Mick,” Ian murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.” Mickey’s not sure he believes that’s possible, but he might be alright with pretending. Just for a little while.

 

Mickey’s up to his elbows in the Gallaghers’ kitchen sink, trying to figure out what the fuck someone threw down it to make it spew the sludge it’s been sending up for three days, when Liam and Yevgeny come in, making so much noise Mickey cranes his neck over to see if there’s a bunch more kids with them.

“—and then he spanks her,” Liam is saying. Mickey doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about but it sounds like something that’s going to get Mickey’s ass reamed out, by Svetlana in a bad way instead of by Ian in a good way.

“Hey,” Mickey snaps. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Why?” Liam asks. For whatever reason, he’s not phased at all by Mickey’s tough guy persona. Maybe it’s because he’s too young to remember Mickey before. Or maybe he _does_ remember, but all he remembers is sitting on Mickey’s lap playing trains at the dinner table more than once while Mickey was waiting for Ian.

“Because I don’t know what you’re telling him but it sounds fucking perverted.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Says a gay guy.”

“Hey!” Debbie says, coming down the stairs and catching the tail end of the conversation. “Mickey’s not perverted for being gay.”

Mickey waves an elbow at her, hands still busy, and says, “She’s right. I’m definitely perverted. The gay thing’s really not the reason, though.”

It makes Debbie laugh, and Liam wrinkles his nose a little. “What’s perverted?” Yevgeny asks, dumping his backpack on a chair.

“Nothing,” Mickey says. “How was school?”

“Good.” Yevgeny comes over for a hug that Mickey can’t return. “Brad made fun of my glasses and I told him to fuck off.”

Liam roars with laughter and Mickey can hear Debbie trying to contain a few snorts, but Mickey rolls his eyes to the ceiling and puffs out a breath.

“Your teacher hear you?”

“No, we were outside for recess.”

“Well, then, good job,” Mickey praises him. “Don’t let your mom hear that, though. Did it shut him up?”

“Yep,” Yevgeny reports cheerfully.

“What about you, Liam?” Mickey asks. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Liam mutters sullenly, which is pretty much expected.

“Yeah?” Mickey presses, because he’s supposed to. He’s heard Fiona do this whole spiel before, and it just so happens that Fiona is the best example of a stable parent Mickey’s ever seen. He doesn’t know if that’s sad or not. “How’d your math quiz go?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “Fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“I got a 15 out of 20.”

“Hey, nice!” Mickey says. Debbie’s giving him a weird look. “What?” He asks her. She shakes her head a little.

“You’re like…” She pauses and bites her lip. “You’re a _dad_.”

Mickey snorts and looks down at Yevgeny. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“No, I mean.” She shrugs. “You’re a _good_ dad. You’re fixing the sink and asking about school. You’re like…a dad from TV.”

Mickey doesn’t know what to say to that, so he turns his attention back to the sink in earnest. His ears feel all hot. Yevgeny’s still at his legs, head tipped back like he can see into the sink and help out.

“Yev’s got some perv stalking him,” Liam says, laughing a little.

“What?” Mickey asks. “Someone following you?”

Yevgeny shrugs. “He was old.”

“What was he doing?” Mickey demands. If some sick fuck touched his kid…

“He said to tell you hi,” Yevgeny says. “I thought he was your friend.”

Mickey’s chest is suddenly so tight his breath rattles. Debbie looks up from where she’d been foraging through the fridge.

“Mickey?” She asks.

“What’d he look like?” Mickey asks through numb lips.

“I don’t know,” Yevgeny says again.

“Liam,” Mickey says sharply. “What’d he look like?”

“Um…” Liam’s forehead wrinkles in thought. “Old. White hair. Kinda fat. Mean.”

Mickey’s going to throw up into the newly unclogged sink. “He have knuckle tats?”

Liam scrunches up his face, trying to remember. “Yeah,” he says. “Not the same as yours, though.”

“No, not the same.” Mickey yanks his hands out of the sink and washes them off. They’re shaking so bad he misses the towel the first time he grabs for it.

“Mickey, what’s going on?” Debbie asks.

“That was my dad,” he says. He feels like he’s floating away. A solid weight hits his legs and he looks down, surprised. It’s Yevgeny. Mickey grabs him and lifts him into his arms, burying his face in that dark hair.

“Dad?” Yevgeny asks.

“He say anything else to you?” Mickey asks. “He touch you?” He’s trying to keep his voice gentle but it’s shaking so bad he can see it scaring Yevgeny.

“No,” Yevgeny says. His lower lip’s starting to tremble. “He just said say hi to you.”

“Fuck,” Mickey mutters. “Okay. Fuck.” He gives Yevgeny one last squeeze and then puts him down. “We gotta…I gotta make a plan.”

“Mickey, _what’s going on_?” Debbie repeats, more forceful this time. Mickey runs his hands through his hair, swallowing hard.

“He wants to kill me,” he says. He probably shouldn’t be saying all this in front of Yevgeny. It’s going to scare the shit out of him. “I thought he just wanted to kill _me_. But if he’s at the school…” He swallows hard again.

Debbie’s eyes are huge and scared and Liam’s dropped his cool pubescent posturing to look terrified. Yevgeny’s clutching onto Mickey’s leg, not sure what’s going on, exactly, but knowing that something’s wrong.

The back door opens and it’s Carl, wearing a backpack like he didn’t age at all the whole time Mickey was gone. He takes a look at everyone’s faces and the greeting he was calling out dies.

“What?” He asks. He sounds immediately terrified and Mickey thinks how this must look, all of them shaking, Debbie looking like she’s going to cry, Yevgeny _actually_ crying.

“It’s not Ian,” Mickey says quickly. “Ian’s fine.”

Carl blows out a relieved breath. “Okay,” he says. “But what _is_ it?”

“Mickey’s dad tried to kill Yev,” Liam says.

“What the fuck?” Carl cries, eyes darting down to check on Yevgeny. “What happened?”

“ _That_ is not what happened,” Mickey scolds. “He was being a fucking creep waiting around outside the school to send me a message, but he didn’t actually try anything.” _Yet_ , he doesn’t say. He can see the grim realization on Carl’s face.

“I’m gonna get killed?” Yevgeny asks, hitching sobs making his words hard to decipher for a second.

“Christ,” Mickey spits. “ _No._ I am never letting anybody hurt you. Got it?” He’s pressing Yevgeny into his hip, probably too forcefully, but he can’t make himself stop and Yevgeny’s not protesting. Yevgeny’s hands scrabble against Mickey’s leg and Mickey picks him up. Yevgeny immediately tucks his face into Mickey’s neck.

“You think I’d let anything happen to you?” Mickey asks.

“No,” Yevgeny chokes out. “You’re strong.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m strong,” Mickey agrees, pressing a hand to the back of Yevgeny’s head.

“You love me?”

It claws at something in Mickey’s chest every time Yevgeny asks, the fact that he _has_ to ask. If Mickey stops and thinks about it for two seconds, he gets it—he was in prison for almost Yevgeny’s entire life. It makes sense that Yevgeny’s not fully convinced, especially after Mickey shook him around a few months ago.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mickey confirms. “Okay? I’m gonna handle this. You’re safe.” Yevgeny’s still crying, and Mickey’s still shaking, and he doesn’t know what to do. He feels like he’s going to fly apart into a million pieces.

“Yevgeny,” Debbie says gently. “How about a snack?”

Yevgeny shakes his head and clutches onto Mickey tighter and he’s crying right in Mickey’s ear and Mickey wants to comfort him but everything’s so _loud_ and he’s _sweating_ and he can’t _breathe_.

“Hey,” Carl says. “I’ll take him. Give him to me.” It takes Mickey a second to figure out what the fuck Carl’s talking about, but eventually it gets through. Carl makes sure Mickey can see his hands, can see he’s not touching the kid until Mickey gives him the okay, and shame and gratitude clog up Mickey’s throat. He nods and Carl gently pries Yevgeny away.

Mickey hates it. Yevgeny’s sobbing like Carl’s separating them forever and Mickey hates himself for losing it right now. Yevgeny’s terrified and Mickey can’t do a damn thing about it.

And then Ian walks in.

Carl immediately hands Yevgeny over. Ian doesn’t resist, just takes the snotty mess Yevgeny’s turned into and darts a look over at Mickey. Mickey doesn’t know what his face is doing, but whatever it is must scare Ian enough that he lets his work-brain take over and keep him calm.

“Yev, it’s me,” Ian says soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

“Ian,” Yevgeny gasps. “A bad man wants to kill me.”

Mickey squeezes his temples, trying to suck in a breath, and he can’t look at the panic on Ian’s face if he’s going to do it.

“Come on,” Debbie says, pulling at Mickey’s elbow. “Carl and Liam will explain.”

He lets her lead him through the living room and out to the front porch. He gulps spring air, trying to stop shaking, and she stays right beside him, not touching him but still there. After a few minutes, his brain’s stopped screaming alarm sounds at him and he doesn’t sound like his lungs are trying to come up through his mouth.

“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from all the panic.

“Any time,” she tells him, and it actually sounds like she means it.

He rolls his neck before he heads back inside. He doesn’t hear Yevgeny crying anymore, but he can’t be sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s almost tentative as he looks into the kitchen. Yevgeny’s curled up in Ian’s lap, little hand fisted in the bottom of Ian’s shirt, and Ian’s running smooth circles across his back.

Mickey pauses beside Ian’s chair and Ian uses the hand not rubbing Yevgeny’s back to grab Mickey’s hand. Mickey lets out a shaky little breath and hangs on for dear life.

“We gotta make a plan,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Ian responds, just as soft. Yevgeny lifts his head from Ian’s shoulder and looks at Mickey warily.

“Sorry, kid,” Mickey says, not sure if Yevgeny will even understand what he’s saying or why he had to get away. When he’s older, probably, but how much will he hate Mickey by then?

Yevgeny doesn’t say anything, but he reaches out his hands for Mickey and Mickey leans over Ian to hug the kid tight.

“My head’s fucked up,” Mickey tells him, because at that parenting class they told him he's supposed to be honest with Yevgeny. He'll be sort of honest, as much as he can, but he's sure as fuck not telling Yevgeny _why_ his head's all fucked up. “Sometimes things get too loud and freak me out.”

Ian’s big, warm hand comes to rest between Mickey’s shoulder blades and it saps the last of the tension out of him. He needs to sleep for a fucking week. If he _could_ sleep.

“I’m too loud?” Yevgeny asks.

“It’s not your fault,” Mickey assures him.

“It’s not yours, either,” Ian murmurs. Mickey doesn’t respond to that. He pulls away from Yevgeny, a bit reluctantly, and pulls out the chair beside Ian’s. Carl’s still there, sitting across the table. Debbie followed Mickey in, but Liam’s gone.

“Did I freak Liam out?” Mickey asks, contrite.

“Nah, he went to find Lip,” Carl says. “Figure we should have all the big guns ready.”

“I should call Svet,” Mickey says, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes,” Yevgeny says, voice shaking a little again. “I want Mama.” Mickey tells himself it’s not a knock on him. Of course the kid wants his fucking mother.

“I’ll call her right now,” Mickey promises. He can’t stop himself from touching Yevgeny again, resting his hand on top of his kid’s head, just making sure he’s still there. He pulls out his phone and sighs before hitting the call button.

“Hello, piece of shit ex-husband,” Svetlana answers, all cheery, and Mickey’s throat tightens a little. He’s about to seriously ruin her day. He’s always doing that.

“Terry was at the kid’s school,” he says.

“What.” There is absolutely no inflection in her voice.

“He didn’t touch him. Just told him to say hi to me.” Mickey blows out a breath. “And then I freaked out and made everything ten fucking times worse.”

“Freaked out?” She asks, and Mickey hates that she’s worried now, wondering what he did. He deserves it, but it still stings.

“I…I didn’t hit him,” Mickey says. He can hear how unsure he sounds. Ian puts his hand on Mickey’s knee under the table. “I just, I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe. He was freaking out and crying and I got all…” He shrugs, even though she can’t see him. “Had to go outside.”

“Everyone is okay?” She asks.

“Well, as much as we can be,” he says, and she makes a noise of affirmation. “He’s pretty shook up.”

“I will come now,” she promises. “You are at home?”

“At Ian’s,” Mickey says, like half his room isn’t covered in Ian’s shit and Ian doesn’t stay over every night he’s not working. This house will always be Ian’s to Mickey.

“Okay,” she says. “I will come now.”

“Sorry,” Mickey says.

“Is not your fault,” she says sharply. Then she softens her tone. “You are scared of him.” She’s not mocking him, like she used to. She’s sad. She knows why Mickey’s afraid of his father. She knew back then, too, but Mickey thinks Yevgeny’s brought out some extra protectiveness in her regarding Mickey.

He knows the kid did that for him toward her, at least. He looks at that little face, always trusting him, loving him, even though Mickey didn’t even want the kid and the kid came out of one of the worst experiences of Mickey’s miserable fucking life, and he imagines a tiny little girl being sold by her father, the man who’s supposed to _protect_ her from shit like that, and he chokes on rage.

“Yeah,” Mickey whispers.

“Is okay,” she soothes. It’s so strange to be having this conversation, to be sharing secrets on the phone with his ex-wife. They were never actually married, not for real, not in the ways that counted, but she still knows him better than anyone else on earth except Ian and maybe Mandy. “Tell Yevgeny I am on my way,” she commands.

“Okay. Bye.”

He puts his hands over his face after she ends the call. Ian’s hand is still there on his leg, squeezing lightly. Mickey clears his throat. “She’s coming,” he says to the room at large. Yevgeny tugs at his hand and then crawls from Ian’s lap into his. Mickey squeezes his eyes shut, trying to convince himself this doesn’t mean the fucking world to him.

“We’ll make a plan when she gets here,” Ian says.

The back door opens and Kev comes tumbling in, long limbs everywhere. “Shit, is Yevgeny okay?” He asks, frantic. “Liam was just around looking for Lip and told me what happened.”

“He’s fine,” Ian assures him. “Scared more than anything else.”

Kev reaches over and pats Yevgeny’s shoulder. “Terry’s a scary motherfucker,” he commiserates. “I’d be pissing my pants if he was waiting around for me.”

“How about we _don’t_ give him more reason to be scared,” Debbie suggests.

“Well, I’ll keep him out of the Alibi,” Kev vows. That burning feeling’s back in Mickey’s eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Mickey manages to find his voice to say. “Drive away one of your biggest customers.”

Kev snorts. “Like he ever pays his tab.”

They’re cut off by the door flinging open again, Fiona rushing inside with her hair flying. “Yevgeny okay?” She asks immediately. “I heard what happened. Shit.”

No one gets a chance to answer before Vee comes in with the girls, and she doesn’t even have time to close the door before Lip and Liam are sprinting inside. It’s chaos, and Ian’s grip on Mickey’s leg gets tighter as the noise level rises.

Everyone’s worried about the kid, checking up on him, wanting to make sure he’s okay. He shrinks closer into Mickey under all the scrutiny, _definitely_ a sign that he’s shaken because normally he eats that attention shit up. Then Svetlana comes in, and Yevgeny all but launches himself into her arms. He starts crying again and it sets everyone off in fits of worry. Svetlana sits down and holds him close, meeting Mickey’s eyes across the table. Her eyes are hard with anger, but he can see the fear in them, too.

Mickey leans into Ian. It’s so much, so loud, and he’s already had to deal with his own fear today. He doesn’t know if he can take all this. But as they start strategizing—plans ranging from “blow up his house” to “lure him into violating parole right outside his PO’s office”—and everyone shows their anger that Terry would scare Yevgeny that way, their fear that he might do something to hurt the kid, Mickey relaxes a fraction.

They’re all here to help. And that’s not bad at all.

 

All the strategizing leads to pretty much nothing, which Mickey could’ve guessed. There’s not much to do about it. Svetlana will take a picture of Terry to show Yevgeny’s teacher and the front office so he can’t come in and claim some kind of grandfather rights or some shit that’ll get them to hand the kid over. Mickey’s going to be waiting outside the school every day to pick Yevgeny up. No one asks, but Liam promises to keep an eye on him during recess, and Mickey has to fight tears like a fucking baby.

They get home, and Mickey’s so damn tired. He just wants to go to sleep. But he can’t. The kid won’t sleep until Mickey reads him a book. So Mickey drags his reading glasses out and plops down on the couch.

“Got a book picked out?” He asks Yevgeny. Ian’s sitting next to Mickey with his arm up on the back of the couch, rubbing the back of Mickey’s neck every so often. Yevgeny climbs into Mickey’s lap while Svetlana changes out of her work clothes. She comes in and sits on the other couch two pages from the end, just watching and listening.

Mickey finishes the book and the four of them sit in silence. Yevgeny is leaning heavily against Mickey’s chest, but he’s not making the snuffling little breaths he does when he’s asleep. Mickey pushes his fingers through Yevgeny’s hair idly.

“Dad?” Yevgeny finally breaks the silence.

“Yeah?” Mickey responds quietly.

“No one’s gonna kill me?”

Mickey sighs, breath shaky. “No,” he says. “Not while I’m alive. I’m gonna protect you.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks,” Yevgeny says, and it makes Mickey laugh a little. Of all things to be polite about. He drops a kiss onto the top of Yevgeny’s head.

“Go to sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

He gives Ian a hug and then Svetlana leads him to her room to sleep, though Mickey can’t be sure if that’s for the kid’s benefit or her own. Ian pulls Mickey up off the couch and Mickey follows him blindly. He’s practically leaning against Ian’s back all the way down the hall, eyes already closed.

He lets Ian undress him. He’s so tired. Too bad there’s no fucking way he’s getting any kind of restful sleep tonight. They crawl under the covers and Ian pulls Mickey tight to his chest. Mickey buries his face against Ian, hiding for a while.

“I’m gonna protect you,” Ian parrots Mickey’s words back to him. “I’m not going to let him hurt you, either, Mickey.”

And then Mickey’s crying, oh Jesus, he’s crying, because when has anyone ever said that to him? All anyone ever sees when they look at him is a thug with a sneer on his face and brass knuckles in his pocket. He doesn’t need protecting.

But Ian knows him better. Ian knows how soft Mickey really is, how weak and scared and tired he always is. Ian knows that what Mickey wants most in the world is to hide his face and let someone else take over. So Ian lets him.

Mickey doesn’t cry long, because he never does, and then he can’t look up into Ian’s face for a while after he stops. Ian’s used to it, though. He just settles a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck and lets him breathe.

Mickey falls asleep like that, and even when he wakes up shaking and gasping or when he whimpers or squeezes tight, Ian stays. Ian stays right there.

 

Mickey quits his weekend job at the club. He can’t handle being away while Svetlana and Yevgeny are home alone. Ian’s there most of the time, but Mickey’s still jittery about it. He can’t focus when all he sees is his dad with a gun in his hand.

Yevgeny doesn’t have a damn clue what’s going on, so he’s ecstatic. Svetlana doesn’t even make a peep about the money. She hasn’t, really, the whole time he’s been here, but he has even less to offer now.

“Was not good environment,” she tells him dismissively. “Too many drunks looking for fights.”

It isn’t untrue. Yevgeny doesn’t even ask anymore about scrapes and black eyes Mickey comes home with. Mickey could probably join some kind of fight club and they’d all be none the wiser. He feels bad, though. At least when he was breaking the law back in the day he was bringing in cash. Now he’s got nothing.

He has to call Mandy. She should be safe, far away as she is, but she should know. Shouldn’t she? If she’s far away and safe, what’s the point of telling her? It’ll just scare her. Right? He doesn’t know.

“You should call her,” Ian says softly after the third time he finds Mickey with his finger hovering over the call button.

“You think?” Mickey asks.

“If nothing else, Mick, you _want_ to.”

He can’t argue against that. He settles against the headboard and steels himself for a second. Ian hovers a little, obviously unsure if Mickey wants him there while he calls, and Mickey taps one finger on the bed beside him. It’s all the invitation Ian needs, too many years of reading Mickey to forget the language.

“Shithead,” Mandy answers, and Mickey wonders if he should take a harder look at why the women in his life use the same variation of that as a nickname.

“He’s out,” Mickey blurts.

“Who?”

“D—Terry. He’s out on parole again.” Mickey realizes Mandy may not have even known he was back _in_. Or out the first time. Or…whatever.

“Are you okay?” Mandy asks, and Mickey’s throat is getting tight because that’s her first question.

“He waited outside the kid’s school.”

Mandy gasps. “He do anything?”

“Just told him to tell me hi.”

“Fuck.”

Mickey listens to his sister take shaking breaths and suddenly wishes he hadn’t told her. Not that he thinks she’ll ever forget what Terry did to her, but he didn’t need to dredge up all those old wounds again. “How you doing?” He asks.

Mandy huffs a little laugh. “Great,” she says sarcastically.

“Mandy.”

There’s a beat of silence. “My boss thinks I should take some college classes.” Turns out she’d gotten her GED three years ago. Mickey thinks that swelling feeling in his chest might be pride, or something like it.

“Yeah?” Mickey asks. “That’s fucking sweet.”

Mandy laughs. “Not like I’m actually gonna do it.”

“Why not?”

“College?” Mandy asks. “Come on.”

“How ‘bout I put you on speaker and you can explain that to Ian?” Mickey threatens.

“Explain what to Ian?” Ian asks, putting his face closer to Mickey’s so Mandy can hear him. Mandy groans.

“Now you’re just fighting dirty.”

“Learned from the best,” Mickey says flippantly. And then they’re back at the beginning of this conversation. They both fall silent.

“I gotta get back to work,” she says. “Stay safe, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

He stares down at his phone after they end the call. Ian leans their shoulders together. “She alright?”

Mickey shrugs. “Guess so.”

Ian slides down so he can rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey twitches, but he doesn’t move away or shove Ian off. Ian’s hand is resting on Mickey’s thigh and his fingers are tapping out a little beat.

“How come you didn’t get your GED when you were in prison?” Ian asks softly.

Mickey snorts. “What good would that do?”

Ian shrugs. “Could get it now.”

“What good would that do?” Mickey repeats. Ian just shrugs again and Mickey feels himself starting to get pissed off. Ian always wants to _believe_ in Mickey, even when there’s nothing to believe. “I’m a convicted felon. Nobody’s gonna fucking hire me, GED or not.”

“You don’t know that,” Ian says softly.

“I do fucking know that.”

“Look at me,” Ian says breezily. “I’m fucking crazy and I got a good job.”

“You’re not crazy,” Mickey says automatically. Ian huffs and turns his face further into Mickey’s shoulder.

“You don’t gotta defend me from _me_.”

“Obviously I do,” Mickey points out. He has no fucking idea how this conversation got so turned around. Ian must be thinking the same thing, because he laughs a little. He turns his head and kisses Mickey’s shoulder. It rockets Mickey back in time to the _secure facility_ , back to _fearterrorangersadness_ because Ian needed help, and for a second Mickey can’t breathe.

“What are we going to do?” Ian asks softly.

“I don’t know,” Mickey admits. “Wait for him to violate parole, I guess.” It’s not a plan, not a real one, and his heart plummets when he sees the disappointment on Ian’s face. Mickey used to always have plans. He could always scheme with the best of them.

But he’s so tired. He can’t be so cavalier with breaking the law anymore. And he’s never been able to plan against his father.

Mickey rests his head against Ian’s, and they sit in silence, breathing together.

 

Ian’s at work, Yevgeny’s in bed, and Svetlana comes into Mickey’s room. She stands in the doorway and knocks, which is a newfound politeness she never used to have. She used to just fucking slam into any room she wanted. She has a weird look on her face.

“What?” He asks.

“When will Ian be back for dinner?” That’s new, too, her using Ian’s actual name.

“Uh, his shift switches back to days next week.” He doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t have Ian’s schedule memorized like some goddamn middle school girl drawing hearts all over her notebooks. Svetlana nods once and doesn’t say anything else. “Why?”

She shifts and looks at the ground. “Boyfriend would like to meet Yevgeny.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot upward. “You’re still dating that guy?” She never talks about him. Mickey just assumed he’d faded away.

She shrugs. “For now.” It’s a lie though. Or she’s downplaying it, anyway. Mickey can see it in the set of her jaw. He’s pretty familiar with doing that. He takes a minute to process that.

“I can scram without Ian,” he points out. “You can have him over before then. I’ll just go out. I can go stay at Ian’s if you want me gone all night.”

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion, and then she shakes her head. “You and Ian will be here for dinner.”

“You want me and Ian to meet your boyfriend?” He asks incredulously. “Hey, hi, here’s my ex-husband who lives in my house?”

She shrugs again. “Ex-husband and gay lover.”

Mickey’s almost proud of himself for not flinching over that word. Then he has to ask himself which one he’d be flinching over, _gay_ or _lover_. He’s used both of them himself, but it’s not like they just roll off his tongue.

“He knows you live here,” she goes on. “I told him. He is okay. You do not like the vagina and the boobs.”

“I do not like the vagina and the boobs,” he agrees, even though his heart’s pounding. “You told your boyfriend I’m—” He thought it would be easier the more he said it. But he’s really only said it out loud a handful of times, and only once without being sarcastic or joking.

Svetlana narrows her eyes at him. “I had to explain why ex-husband living in my house would not be problem.”

“Okay,” he says, mouth dry. She crosses her arms and he forces himself to take slow, deep breaths. He knows she’s right. And anyway, it’s not a secret. It’s fine for people to know.

“You will come? With Ian?”

“Why do you want us there so bad?” He asks. It seems a little weird. And he feels suspicious based on the cagey look on her face.

“He asks to meet you.”

“What?” Mickey asks, pretty shocked. He can’t imagine being enthusiastic about meeting your girlfriend’s ex.

“He does.” She looks away, and Mickey’s about to push for answers when he realizes her ears are turning red. She’s embarrassed. Of him? “I tell him stories and he says he wants to meet you,” she says, chin high even with the blush spreading across her face.

Mickey literally has no words. She talks about him and Ian to her boyfriend. She tells him…funny stories? Mickey’s completely flabbergasted. He’s about to ask her why the fuck she goes around talking about her ex-husband to her new boyfriend when he suddenly thinks about Ian chattering incessantly about his siblings. Mickey had complained once, and Ian had rolled his eyes. _Most people like talking about their families_ , he’d teased. It was before Ian really understood all the reasons Mickey didn’t like talking about his family.

Family. Svetlana talks about Mickey and Ian and Yevgeny because they’re the only family she has. Her mom’s been dead almost her whole life, her dad fucking _sold her_ to get drugged and fucked by the highest bidder, even the other Russian girls she’d come over with are gone, scattered to different pimps or different states or dead.

Mickey’s stomach hurts. He wishes Ian were here right now, because Ian always knows how to handle this kind of shit. The feelings shit. Mickey can’t deal with this.

“Just tell me what day,” he finally says. “We’ll be here.”

Svetlana gives him a small smile and nods. “I will check boyfriend’s schedule for next week.”

“Gonna tell him a bunch of embarrassing shit, though,” Mickey threatens. Svetlana tips her head, assessing him.

“You know no embarrassing shit about me,” she says. Mickey raises an eyebrow and then she looks almost frightened. She takes another step into his room. “Do not tell him—” She cuts herself off.

“What?” Mickey asks, laughing. “That time you almost shit your pants in the bar?”

She glares at him. “Is harder to hold in when baby is shoving everything around,” she says. But she’s not laughing.

“Don’t tell him what?” Mickey asks, serious this time.

“He does not know I was…” She swallows. “He does not know I was whore.”

“Didn’t he ask why you came over?”

“I told him my father sent me for school.”

Mickey’s never thought about Svetlana being ashamed of being a prostitute. He’s never spared much thought for her at all, actually, and he feels like shit as he realizes that. He’s never thought about how she feels about any of it—being sold like merchandise, being shipped like merchandise, getting shoved around and her hair pulled by nasty fucks who treat her like merchandise.

Ian would comfort her. Ian would tell her she has nothing to be ashamed of, that she should be proud she made the best of the shit hand life dealt her and rose above it all. Ian would tell her she’s strong and important.

Mickey doesn’t know how to say any of that shit. He can barely say that kind of stuff to Ian, so there’s no way he’ll be able to say it to anyone else.

“I won’t tell him,” he promises softly. It’s all he can give her. She nods, and then she leaves.

 

Mickey hasn’t seen even a hint of his father in the month since he showed up at Yevgeny’s school. Maybe he just wanted to scare them. Mickey might be more prone to believe that if he didn’t know his father.

He’s not relaxing. He’s still making sure to be right on time to get Yevgeny, not a minute late. Yevgeny’s all but forgotten about the scary day they had, nothing left of it but a lingering nightmare here or there. He’s always excited to see Mickey after school.

“Hi, Dad!” He yells, running over. He latches onto Mickey’s legs right away. “We’re meeting Mama’s boyfriend today.”

“Yeah, he’s coming for dinner,” Mickey agrees. “You gonna be nice to him?”

Yevgeny wrinkles his nose. “I’m always nice!”

Mickey listened to the kid screaming through too many tantrums to believe that, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s scanning the school grounds warily, holding his breath. He has no fucking idea what he’ll do if he sees Terry.

“Where’s Liam?” Mickey asks. He doesn’t always walk home with them, but he usually at least says hi.

Yevgeny shrugs. “Detention.”

“You can get detention in grade school?” Mickey asks. He can’t really remember. He’s sure if it’s possible, it happened to him, but all his detentions and suspensions just kind of blend together in his brain.

“I don’t know,” Yevgeny says.

“What’s with your glasses?” Mickey asks. There are stickers all over the frames. They’re mostly frogs, which…okay, whatever.

“Nathan had stickers and he let me put them on my glasses!”

Mickey doesn’t know who Nathan is. Yevgeny’s got a constant stream of friends and Mickey can’t keep up. He used to just assume they were made up, but Svetlana always backs the kid up and knows who he’s talking about.

“Why’s Liam got detention?” Mickey asks. Normally he hustles Yevgeny home, but he wonders if he should check on Liam.

“I don’t know.” Predictable.

“Maybe we should go ask his teacher,” Mickey says.

“Okay,” Yevgeny says with a shrug. They head back inside the school and Mickey finds himself sweating as they approach the principal’s office. Mickey doesn’t exactly have a great track record with school authority.

“Hi,” the lady at the desk says. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m looking for Liam Gallagher. Kid says he got detention.”

She looks at Mickey and then down at Yevgeny and then back up to Mickey. He stuffs his hands in his pockets when he sees her gaze pausing on his knuckles.

“I can’t release information about a student to anyone other than that student’s guardian,” she says.

“Oh,” Mickey says. “Well…” He doesn’t have anywhere else to go with that.

“Liam’s like my uncle,” Yevgeny pipes up. “Debbie said so.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, jostling the kid a little. “You can’t tell me why he’s got detention?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t.” She doesn’t sound too broke up about it.

“I just—” Mickey bites his lip. “We kinda got some stuff going down and I’m not sure he should walk home alone.” It’s not really true, but it’s not really _un_ true, either.

She stares at him for a long minute. “Are you Mickey Milkovich?” She asks.

Fuck. If she knows who he is, this is over. No way she’s telling him anything about Liam. “Yeah,” he mutters, starting to turn away. “Whatever. Thanks for nothing.”

“Mr. Milkovich,” she says, and he flinches. “You’re on the approved list for Liam Gallagher.”

“The approved list?”

She raises her eyebrows. “The list of approved adults who can check a student out of school.”

He processes that for a second. “I am?”

The lady nods. “Fiona Gallagher added you.” Mickey doesn’t even know how to take that. Maybe Ian forged her signature. The secretary lady clacks a few buttons on her computer. “Liam’s in room 122,” she says. “You can talk to the teacher there about what happened.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, still sort of lost. “Uh…thanks.”

They walk down the hall, and Yevgeny points out his favorite posters like school’s some kind of fucking fun time. Maybe it is for him. That wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. They get to room 122 and the door’s closed. Mickey doesn’t really know what else to do. He doesn’t remember anyone ever coming in while he was in detention.

“Should we knock?” He asks Yevgeny.

“I don’t know.”

“What _do_ you know?” Mickey asks under his breath.

“I know three plus two is five!” Yevgeny tells him proudly. “And I can write my name!”

“Okay, great,” Mickey says. He opens the door without knocking. Liam’s the only kid inside, with some old dude sitting at the desk in the front. Mickey wonders if Ian ever fucked him. He looks like Ian’s old type.

Liam’s got his chin resting on his fist, but he looks up when they come in. The teacher doesn’t even move.

“He sleeping?” Mickey asks Liam. Now the guy looks up.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m on the approved list,” Mickey says. He doesn’t know if that’s actually some kind of magic phrase or not. He gestures at Liam. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Gallagher got in a fight today.”

Mickey looks at Liam for confirmation. There’s no evidence on his face, so Mickey’s guessing Liam won. “A fight about what?”

“It doesn’t matter what,” the teacher says. He’s got a nasally voice. Ian better not have fucked him. “Fighting is not tolerated.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I went to this school, too, and I fought plenty.”

The guy doesn’t look impressed. “He’s lucky he isn’t suspended.”

“Yeah, right,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. “Being suspended’s the fucking best.” Then he cringes a little. He’s supposed to be a good example and all that shit. But come on, who really thought _he_ ’d be a good example?

“Well, I’m signing him out now or whatever,” Mickey says. “Come on, Liam.”

“He has another forty-five minutes,” the teacher protests.

“Well, I don’t got forty-five minutes to wait,” Mickey says, not even looking back as he hustles Liam and Yevgeny out the door in front of him. They get outside and Liam starts walking away, like he’s thinking he’s going to split.

“Hey,” Mickey calls. Liam turns around and Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Where the fuck you think you’re going?” He’s not even turned in the direction of the Gallagher house.

“Got places to be,” he says.

“Nah,” Mickey says. “You’re coming home with us. And you’re gonna tell me about whatever this fight was.”

Luckily, Liam’s a pretty easy-going kind of kid, even if he’s not afraid of Mickey, so he rolls his eyes but falls back into step with them.

“We’re meeting my mama’s boyfriend today,” Yevgeny tells Liam. “He’s coming to my house for dinner.”

“Your mom has a boyfriend?” Liam asks.

“Yeah, and my dad does too,” Yevgeny says easily. Mickey blows out a breath. Jesus.

“So, what the hell?” Mickey asks. “Whose ass did you kick and why?” He glances down and catches sight of Liam’s split knuckles. “We better clean those up when we get home.”

“Just had a score to settle with a kid,” Liam says, would-be casual except for the way he’s jutting his chin out the same way Ian does when he’s upset about something.

“Hm,” Mickey says. “Sounds like a lie to me.” Liam just shrugs. Mickey shrugs back. Whatever. He’ll get him back to the house, fix up his hands, and then Ian’ll get home to deal with it. They should have time to handle it all before Svetlana’s boyfriend comes over.

Everything’s right on schedule, Mickey cleaning up Liam’s hands and sitting him on the couch so he can read Yevgeny’s book. Liam laughs at them both wearing glasses and Mickey flips him off, though he probably shouldn’t do that to a twelve-year-old. He makes Liam text Lip and Carl and tell them where he is, since they usually come around the house after they finish up their respective classes. Debbie and Fiona are both working.

Svetlana gets home and starts making dinner, because she banned Mickey from doing it today. Apparently his spaghetti and hot dogs isn’t good enough for her big wig boyfriend. People pay good money for that shit in fancy restaurants. Mickey saw it on the cooking channel in the rec room every fucking day when he was in prison.

“Where is Ian?” Svetlana asks.

“I don’t know,” Mickey admits. He glances at his phone, but Ian hasn’t texted him. _Gonna be late_? Mickey fires off. But if he got called out at the last minute, he probably won’t be able to answer.

 _Last minute domestic_ , Ian confirms a few minutes later. _Sorry_.

“He’s gonna be late,” Mickey calls to Svetlana. “Some asshole couldn’t stop beating his wife in time.”

Svetlana grumbles a little as she sets plates on the table. She doesn’t even ask if Liam’s staying, just sets a place for him. There’s a knock on the door and she glances up. She looks _nervous_. Mickey’s never seen her look nervous before. Pissed as hell, sure, more times than he can count, but this is different.

“Mama, is that your boyfriend?” Yevgeny cries excitedly, running to the door.

“Yevgeny!” Mickey says sharply. He’s under strict instructions not to answer the door, and Mickey can’t let that shit slide with Terry out there. Yevgeny makes a face.

“I won’t open it!”

Svetlana pats him on the head as she looks through the peephole. Then she smoothes down her hair. “Okay,” she says. “Boyfriend is here.” She opens the door, and Mickey is underwhelmed. The guy looks like an accountant. Probably some fancy Northside big-shot. He wants to roll his eyes.

Still, she smiles at the guy and the guy smiles back and leans in to give her a little peck, and then he holds up a bottle of wine.

“I wasn’t sure if I should bring this?” He says, and he sounds nervous, too. Christ, they’ve been together for months. What’s the big deal?

“David,” she says. “This is Yevgeny.” She puts her hand on the top of Yevgeny’s head where he’s leaning against her legs.

“Hi, Yevgeny,” David says, and he pronounces it right. He doesn’t go straight to that high-pitched baby-talk shit a lot of people do with kids, which Mickey appreciates.

“Hello,” Yevgeny says solemnly. He’s always weird when he meets new people—ridiculously formal. Mickey doesn’t know if it’s a Russian thing or what. David’s lips twitch a little and he holds out a hand for Yevgeny to shake. Yevgeny’s eyes light up a little at this display of adulthood.

“This is ex-husband,” Svetlana says, gesturing at Mickey.

“Hi,” David says. Mickey’s first instinct is to grunt at him, but Svetlana’s giving him wide, pleading eyes and Mickey promised Ian he’d be nice. Mickey keeps his sigh internal and actually drags his ass off the couch.

“Hey,” he says. He can’t quite bring himself to shake the guy’s hand, but he nods at him. “Mickey.”

“Nice to meet you,” David says. He looks over at Liam. “I’m guessing that’s…not Ian.”

“Liam,” Svetlana supplies. “Ian’s brother.”

“Ian got stuck at work,” Mickey says.

“We wait,” Svetlana says.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Yevgeny says, like he was waiting for a cue or something.

“We’re gonna wait for Ian, little man,” Mickey says.

“Where is he?” Yevgeny asks.

“Still at work.”

“Ian’s my dad’s boyfriend,” Yevgeny tells David very seriously.

“Christ, where’d you even hear that?” Mickey complains. He sure doesn’t call Ian that. David raises his eyebrows.

“You don’t call him your boyfriend?”

Mickey _really_ doesn’t want to discuss this with a total stranger. But still. Best behavior. Besides, Mickey just _knows_ this conversation will get back to Ian, and it’d be nice to see him smile over it instead of frown.

“I don’t know,” Mickey says with a shrug. “Boyfriend sounds…” He shrugs again. “Dumb. I’m not in sixth grade.”

“You could get married and call him husband,” Liam says.

“Fuck me,” Mickey blurts, completely caught off guard. “Where the fuck did that come from? Ian been saying shit about wanting to get married?”

“No,” Liam says. “But gay guys get married. Me and Carl had those foster gays who wanted to steal me.”

“You don’t even remember that,” Mickey says.

“When will Ian come?” Svetlana asks loudly. Mickey feels guilty. He’s not making this easy on her.

“I don’t know,” Mickey says. “I’ll ask him if he knows when he’ll be done, but it kinda depends.”

“Ian saves people,” Yevgeny tells David proudly. “He brings people back to _life_.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Liam scoffs. “Machines do.”

“He works machines,” Svetlana says. “Ian is big hero.”

Mickey’s phone buzzes. _Start without me_. He frowns. “Ian says to start without him. It must be bad.”

Svetlana pauses for a second. “Okay,” she says. “We will start. Ian is okay?”

Mickey shrugs. “Guess so.” He ignores the gnaw of anxiety in his stomach. They head into the kitchen and everyone takes a seat. Mickey makes sure there’s a chair next to him that stays empty. It’s probably sappy, but he wants to sit next to Ian when he gets there. What the fuck ever.

They’re almost all the way done with dinner and Ian still hasn’t shown. Mickey keeps checking his phone, but he’s got nothing. He’s starting to get worried for real. Every time he checks his phone, Svetlana looks at him, eyes questioning, and he has to just shake his head.

Finally, just as Svetlana’s suggesting dessert, Ian comes stumbling in the door. He looks exhausted, and he’s got a black eye blooming. Mickey’s up and out of his chair before the door closes behind Ian.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey asks. “What happened?” He gets to Ian and just puts a hand on his shoulder, making sure he’s okay.

“Can we talk about it later?” Ian whispers. “Sorry I’m late,” he says louder. He looks a little surprised to see Liam, but brushes a hand over his little brother’s hair. “Hey, didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Mickey made me,” Liam says. “Took me out of detention.”

Ian pauses from where he’d been slowly, gingerly lowering himself onto the chair in a way Mickey doesn’t like at all. “Detention?” Ian asks.

“Got in a fight.” Liam sounds half-proud and half-scared.

Ian sighs. “Liam.”

“That shithead had it coming,” Liam insists.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Ian says, eyes cutting over to David, who’s tilting his head and looking back and forth between Ian and Liam. Mickey wants to tell him not to bother trying to work it out. Ian hauls himself back up so he can stretch his hand over the table. “I’m Ian.”

“Hi, I’m David. You sure you’re alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Ian says, waving a hand and then wincing a little. Mickey’s betting his ribs are fucked up.

“You get in the middle of the fight or something?” Mickey asks.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Ian says firmly. But dodging the question only makes Mickey more worried. Ian doesn’t normally have a problem talking about work, though he sterilizes it a bit when Yevgeny’s around. Maybe he just wants to spare David, but they’ve been to a few parties here and there and Mickey’s learned that _everyone_ loves a good emergency story.

“What was your fight about, Liam?” Ian pushes.

“None of your business,” Liam says.

“Hey,” Mickey cautions, worried eyes still on Ian.

Liam blows out a breath. “Just some guys saying shit.”

“Since when is someone running their mouth enough to get detention over?” Ian asks. Mickey shrugs. Most of his detentions in school were probably over someone running their mouth. Well, maybe most at Liam’s age. After a while people stopped saying shit to Mickey, but he sure didn’t stop beating them down.

“Whatever,” Liam says, keeping his eyes trained on his plate. But he’s clenching his jaw, so it’s obviously a bigger deal than he’s letting on.

“Liam,” Ian says.

“They were calling you crazy!” Liam finally bursts out. The table falls silent. Liam rubs at his nose, trying not to sniff.

“Oh,” Ian says. “Well. You don’t need to get detention because of me.”

“They can’t just say that,” Liam mutters.

“You did good job,” Svetlana says. Ian gives her a look and she raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, you did,” Mickey agrees. “Those guys were asking for it.”

Ian’s the one looking down at the table now, red-faced, and Mickey sees David looking confused and a little worried, but Mickey doesn’t care. He hooks his ankle around Ian’s and shoots Liam a nod.

“Fighting’s not always bad,” he says. It makes Svetlana snort, probably because it took Mickey’s entire life for him to realize fighting’s not always _good_ , but Mickey just rolls his eyes.

“Ian’s bleeding!” Yevgeny cries before anyone can say anything else.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes. There’s a widening red spot on Ian’s shit. “Ian.”

Ian groans. “Okay,” he says. “Don’t freak out.”

“Stabbed?” Svetlana asks, earning her a wide-eyed look from her boyfriend. She just shrugs at him.

“Uh, yeah,” Ian admits. Mickey hisses as he pulls Ian’s shirt up to reveal the gash along his ribs. It looks pretty shallow, at least—the knife probably glanced off him.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get that checked out while you were _at work_ ,” Mickey growls. “Ian, I swear to God…”

“Didn’t happen at work,” Ian says. His shoulders slump as his secret finally comes out. “Had a little run-in on my way here.”

“A run-in?” Mickey echoes. “What the fuck’s that mean?”

“It means I ran into someone.”

“Ran into someone’s knife,” Svetlana mutters. She hands Ian a towel to hold to the wound. It’s only bleeding sluggishly.

“Ian, are you okay?” Yevgeny squeaks out. “Was it Dad’s dad? Does he wanna kill you, too?”

Mickey’s about to tell the kid to chill the fuck out when he catches Ian biting his lip. “Shit,” Mickey says, voice going high with panic. “It was my dad?”

“He stabbed you?” Liam asks, cool façade dropping.

“He was too drunk to really do any damage,” Ian says, like that’s supposed to make anyone feel better. Mickey can’t even care that people are in the room, including some rich dude he doesn’t even know—he wraps his arm around Ian’s shoulders and buries his nose in the hair at Ian’s temple.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Are you kidding?” Ian asks. “He’d kill you.”

“He could’ve killed _you_.”

Svetlana’s eyes are chunks of ice. “We have to do something,” she says. “We have to—” She doesn’t move her face one inch, but Mickey sees her dart her eyes over to David. “We have to take care of this.”

Mickey knows exactly what she stopped herself from saying. She’s suggesting they kill Terry. Not like Mickey’s opposed. His hands are shaking as he touches the rag against the wound in Ian’s side. Someone knocks on the door and Mickey jumps about a foot in the air.

“Nobody move,” he says sternly. He’s got the gun Iggy got him stashed in the small of his back and he waits until he’s out of sight from the kitchen to pull it out. He glances out the peephole. It’s just Lip.

Mickey yanks him inside and closes the door, locking the deadbolt behind them. Lip raises his eyebrows.

“Hey, uh, no offense, but you’re barking up the wrong Gallagher tree here, Mick.”

“Shut up,” Mickey snaps. “My dad stabbed Ian.”

“Fuck!” Lip cries. “Where is he?”

“I’m right here,” Ian yells from the kitchen, sounding all grumpy. “And he barely even touched me.”

“Oh, because that’s better,” Lip says sarcastically as they take seats at the table. There aren’t any chairs left, so Mickey pulls Yevgeny onto his lap to make space for Lip.

“Where’s Carl?” Mickey asks nervously. “He’s not at your house alone, is he? What about Fiona and Debbie? How late they working?”

“Carl stayed on campus to write a paper,” Lip says. “Fiona and Debbie won’t be home for hours.”

“We gotta walk them home,” Mickey says. His hands are shaking and Yevgeny squeezes them to try to make them stop.

“We will,” Ian soothes.

“ _You_ won’t,” Mickey says. Ian scowls and opens his mouth to argue. “Don’t,” Mickey says softly. “Ian. He _stabbed_ you.”

“Think of what he’ll do to you,” Ian says, just as quiet. Mickey can’t help the little shiver that goes through him. He’s been spending a lot of time _not_ thinking about that.

“Uh,” David says. “Hi. I’m David. Lana’s boyfriend.”

Lip blinks a few times. “Okay,” he says. “I’m Lip.” He points at Ian and Liam. “Brother.”

Mickey pulls his hands away from Yevgeny to run over his face. “This can’t fucking go on,” he says. “He can’t do this.”

“What are we gonna do?” Ian asks.

“Shouldn’t we, you know, call the police?” David asks tentatively.

“We can’t go to the cops,” Mickey says.

“Why not?” David asks. “That’s…what the police are for?”

Mickey shoots Svetlana an annoyed look. “Really?”

“He is rich,” Svetlana says. “He does not know.”

“What?” David asks.

“Police are useless as shit,” Mickey says. “That’ll just make him madder. Tell everyone Ian’s a snitch. Get the whole neighborhood after him.”

And then there’s pounding on the door. Even without the angry shouts coming through, muffled from the layers of wood and plaster, Mickey would know who that is. His blood runs cold.

“No,” he says, shuddering.

“Fuck,” Ian says. “He must’ve followed me. I’m sorry, oh fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Mickey says distractedly. “Not your fault. This is…okay. Shit.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Everybody go in the bathroom. Lock the door and take a chair to put under the knob.”

“No fucking way,” Ian cuts in almost before Mickey’s done speaking.

“Ian, you’re already hurt!” Mickey says. “I can’t watch him hit you again.”

There’s a bit of a silence except for Terry screaming and banging on the door. All the adults in the room, save David, know what Mickey’s talking about. But Ian shakes his head. Of fucking course he does.

“We take care of each other,” he reminds Mickey fiercely. “You and me.”

Mickey can’t breathe. His dad’s banging on the door and it won’t be long before he finds a way inside.

“Liam, Yevgeny, David, _go_ ,” Mickey snaps. “Lip?”

“Don’t think so,” Lip says.

“Svet?”

She only snorts at him.

“I can help,” Liam says.

“No,” Mickey, Ian, Lip, and Svetlana all say at the same time.

“Hey,” Mickey says quickly. “He’s not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you’re a kid. Okay? He’ll kill you if you get in his way. He’ll do it.” Little shudders are running through Mickey’s body, too many memories to process at once. Ian puts a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Go, Liam,” Ian says. “You gotta watch out for Yev.”

Liam’s glaring, but he takes Yevgeny by the hand. “Come on, Yev,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at David. “Rich guy coming?”

“Uh,” David says. “What the fuck’s going on?” His eyes are huge and he’s looking at Svetlana like he’s never seen her before.

“Go get in the bathroom,” Svetlana snaps, shoving him. He obeys.

Mickey’s trembling, a mixture of terror and rage. It’s a familiar feeling when it comes to his father. Mickey pulls the gun from the small of his back. Lip makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “We really doing this?” He asks. “For real?”

Mickey blows out a harsh breath. “Him or us.”

Lip tips his head. “He’s your dad, though.”

“He _stabbed Ian_ ,” Mickey says. “Fucker’s gotta die.”

“We just gonna open the door?” Ian asks. From outside, they can hear Terry yelling, _get out here, fucking faggot_. The neighbors will love that.

“I’m going out the backdoor,” Mickey says. “I’ll come around and just…” He swallows hard. And just shoot his father.

“Mickey,” Ian says quietly.

“He deserves it,” Mickey says fiercely. “What he did to you, what he did to _Mandy_ , Christ.”

“What he did to you,” Ian adds. “But I don’t know if it’s that easy.”

“I will do it,” Svetlana says. “Happily.”

“Not letting you go to jail,” Mickey says.

“Oh, but you’ll go back?” Ian snaps. “Let me do it.”

“Yeah fucking right,” Mickey says. “Not like prison’s a great place for mental health resources.” Mickey can’t take another second of talking. He yanks the back door open and tiptoes down the stairs. He can hear Ian blow out a frustrated breath and follow him.

Mickey wills his mind to go calm as he turns the corner. It’s not working very well. And then there he is: Mickey’s father, his life-long tormentor, always larger than life and cruel as fuck. His knuckles are bloody from punching the door—and Ian, earlier—and he’s got spit flying as he screams for Mickey to come out. There are sirens down the block, but it doesn’t really mean anything. There are always sirens around here.

“I’m right here,” Mickey says. Terry whirls around.

“You!” Terry yells. “Got away from me once, but you’re not getting away this time!”

Mickey raises his gun calmly. “Come at me, then.”

Terry sneers and pulls out his own gun. Fuck. Their only hope now is that he’s too drunk off his ass to aim. Mickey’s not feeling optimistic. He’s seen Terry do plenty of damage fucked up.

Three cop cars round the corner and Terry meets Mickey’s eyes. “You’re a dead man,” he says. “One way or another, I’m gonna kill you.” He’s not moving, though, not pulling the trigger. If he kills Mickey now, he won’t have time to hide the body, and maybe he actually _doesn’t_ want to go down for murder. Mickey should shoot him first.

“You’re violating your parole,” Ian tells Terry. “You fucking stabbed me.”

“So’s he,” Terry says, grinning. “He’s got a gun. And you think there’s a prison in this _country_ I ain’t got guys inside?”

Mickey’s breaths are coming out harsh and ragged. “I’m not going back,” he says. “I’ll fight the police before they send me back. They’ll have to kill me.”

“Mickey!” Ian says, distressed. “What the fuck?”

“I’m not going back!”

“Milkovich!” It’s Hawkins. The three other cops with him swarm Terry and get him on the ground, knock his gun away. “Well, well,” Hawkins says. “Looks like we got a parole violation.”

“You got two,” Terry snarls, tipping his chin toward Mickey. Mickey’s still holding the gun loosely at his side.

“Get him out of here,” Hawkins snaps at the other cops. “I gotta deal with this.”

“Hawkins,” Mickey says.

“Mickey, you fucking kidding me?” Hawkins asks. “You were doing everything right.”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Mickey demands. “He came after my family. Look at this!” He gestures at the blood on Ian’s shirt. “You think he just grew a fucking hole in his ribs?”

Hawkins frowns, but he sighs. “Having a gun’s a violation,” he says. “You know that.”

“No, Officer, that gun’s mine.”

The sentence came from Lip. Mickey jerks his head over to stare at him.

“It’s yours?” Hawkins asks skeptically.

“Yes, sir,” Lip says. It’s probably the least sarcastic Mickey’s ever heard him. “Dangerous neighborhood and all. Man’s gotta protect himself.” Okay, maybe not.

“So, you’re telling me this unregistered gun with the serial number filed off is yours?” Hawkins asks.

“No,” Mickey starts.

“Yep,” Lip cuts him off loudly. “You know what they say. When guns are outlawed only outlaws will have guns.”

“Lip,” Ian says lowly.

“I was threatening to shoot,” Lip goes on. “Mickey took the gun from me so I wouldn’t.”

Hawkins brings his thumb to his mouth and bites his fingernail while he thinks that over. “You’re taking the fall for an illegal gun, huh?”

“Guess so.”

“Okay, look,” Mickey says. Svetlana elbows him hard in the ribs.

Hawkins sighs loudly. “Okay, you know what? I’m going to go radio into dispatch and tell them I’m doing a spontaneous parole check. Who knows what I’ll find when I get back? Or won’t find,” he adds significantly.

He turns around and walks away. Mickey breathes out harshly and stuffs the gun down the back of his jeans.

“He’s not gonna pat you down, is he?” Ian asks.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, since he gave me the out.”

“Why don’t you chuck it somewhere?” Lip asks. “Get rid of it.”

“There’s a fuckton of kids in this neighborhood,” Mickey says. “Ain’t leaving a gun lying around like that. Someone’s gonna accidentally blow their brains out.”

“Or on purpose,” Svetlana mutters. “Give to me. He will not search me.” Mickey deliberates for a second, so Svetlana mutters under her breath and reaches down the back of his pants for the gun. It makes Mickey freeze and hold his breath for a second. “Let’s go inside,” Svetlana says quietly, almost apologetically.

“Yo, Hawkins,” Mickey yells. “Can we go inside?”

“Yeah, and I’m coming in to do that check!” Hawkins calls back. “In about ten minutes, probably.”

“You could just come now,” Mickey tells him. He doesn’t need ten minutes. He doesn’t have anything inside he needs to stash. The gun was the only thing. Hawkins looks at him with raised eyebrows and Mickey nods at him.

They get inside and hurry down the hall to the bathroom. “Yevgeny!” Svetlana says. She throws some rapid-fire Russian and the door cracks open.

“Is it safe?” David asks. Mickey has to at least give him points for being the one right by the door and keeping the kids back.

“Is safe,” Svetlana assures him. He sags, relieved, and Liam and Yevgeny rush over him.

“Mama!” Yevgeny cries as Svetlana scoops him up. Ian grabs Liam in a hug and he doesn’t even protest.

“Everyone’s alright,” Ian assures him. “It’s okay.”

“Dad, you’re okay?” Yevgeny asks, stretching his arms out to Mickey. Mickey squeezes him, probably too tight, and breathes in his little-kid scent.

“I’m great,” he promises.

“What happened to your dad?” Liam asks.

“He was violating his parole,” Lip says. “He’s going back to prison.”

“How many times can they let him out before they just leave him there to rot?” Ian asks hotly.

“Take it up with the governor of Illinois,” Hawkins mutters, coming into the room. “This is cozy. But Mickey here needs to pee for me.”

“Kinky,” Lip says.

Mickey passes his drug test, and Hawkins doesn’t even do a house search like he threatened. He’s probably too afraid of what he might find after putting his own neck on the line for Mickey. Mickey stops him just before he walks out the front door.

“Hey, how’d you know to come here?” Mickey asks.

Hawkins shrugs. “Said I’d keep an eye on Terry’s ankle monitor.”

Mickey’s eyes sting a bit and he blinks, fast. “Thanks,” he manages to say. Hawkins nods and claps a hand on Mickey’s shoulder.

“You’re doing a good job,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Okay,” Mickey says. “Hallmark’s over.”

Hawkins laughs and leaves. Mickey slumps against the door for a second, and then glances into the kitchen, unseen. David is still there, sitting at the table and looking a little unsure of everything. Mickey figures if he sticks around through this, he’ll never leave.

Svetlana is _doting_ on Lip. He’s got a plate of food in front of him and she’s sliding another plate of pachlava at him. She even leans down and kisses his cheek. Lip just looks awkward about it all.

Yevgeny is sitting on Ian’s lap and ‘helping’ press a rag to Ian’s side. Ian’s bleeding again, thanks to the excitement of running around outside, and they should probably take him to the fucking hospital. Mickey already knows he won’t go. Such a fucking hypocrite.

Liam’s stuffing his face with pachlava, but he keeps sneaking little looks at Ian, and when Ian pulls the rag away from his side, Liam hands him another one that’s cleaner.

Mickey’s exhausted. Adrenaline and fear and relief and an all-around long fucking day are combining to make his whole body feel like lead. He drags himself into the kitchen.

“Pachlava,” Svetlana says. She presses her lips to his cheek and pushes him down into a chair. “Will make whole day better.”

“You bake this?” Mickey asks.

“No, I buy from Yasha’s bakery,” Svetlana tells him. She sounds scornful at the idea of baking, and it makes Mickey want to laugh.

“Well, in that case, I guess I’ll eat some,” Mickey says. She raps her knuckles against the top of his head and he actually does laugh. “What are you, a fucking teacher?”

“She was a kindergarten teacher that one summer,” Ian says, laughing. “Remember?”

“You were a teacher?” David asks. Everyone dissolves into laughter. Mickey’s exhausted, but now he feels kind of giddy, punch drunk the way he was after coming out and fighting the whole fucking bar. It’s always Terry.

But it’s always Ian at his side, too, so maybe it’s not too bad.

“Hey,” Mickey says quietly, kicking Lip under the table. “You didn’t have to do that back there.”

Lip shrugs. “Well, you know, I was the best option. You guys got the kid to think about.”

“Lip,” Ian starts.

“I’ll have Iggy get you some of his good stuff,” Mickey interrupts. “For free.”

“Now that’s the kind of gratitude I can get behind,” Lip says.

“Yeah, well.” Mickey can feel his cheeks heating up a little. “It’s free for family.”

Ian’s grin is so wide it probably hurts. Mickey hopes it does. Fucker deserves it for looking so damn pleased.

“Can I get some for free?” Liam cuts in, completely ruining the moment. Mickey should give him five bucks or something in thanks.

The party breaks up after the third time Yevgeny’s head drops to the table. Svetlana and David have a long conference in the living room that ends in distinct kissing noises, so Mickey figures maybe that’s still okay. Svetlana carries Yevgeny off to get ready for bed.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Yevgeny says sleepily, holding out his arms for his goodnight hug and kiss. “Are we safe now?”

“You were safe all along, little man,” Mickey reminds him, giving him another kiss for the road. “You’re safe as long as I’m alive.”

“Okay, Dad,” he says.

“Well, we better go,” Lip says. “I might’ve told Fiona what was going on and now she’s shitting a brick.”

“Tell her to try some Metamucil,” Mickey deadpans. “Aisle seven.”

Lip makes a face. “Is that your idea of humor?”

“It is,” Ian confirms, shaking his head sadly. “It really is.”

Lip gets an arm around Ian’s shoulders and squeezes him a little. He just nods at Mickey, which is a relief. Then Liam surges forward and hugs Ian—and then Mickey.

“Bye,” Liam says, all awkward and red-faced after his show of emotion.

“See you tomorrow,” Ian says, ruffling his hair.

And then it’s just Ian and Mickey. Ian stands up with a groan and grabs a few plates. “The fuck are you doing?” Mickey complains. “No, stop that. I gotta get you cleaned up.”

“We don’t want to leave all these dishes for Svetlana,” Ian protests.

“I promise I will do them in the morning,” Mickey says. He has no intention of following through on that promise, but hopefully it’ll at least get Ian to stop. Ian must really be hurting, because it works. He lets Mickey lead him back to the bathroom.

“Can you raise your arms?” Mickey asks. He’ll cut Ian’s shirt off, no qualms, if Ian can’t.

“Yeah,” Ian says. Which is good, because upon closer inspection Mickey realizes that’s _his_ shirt Ian’s wearing. Not that it isn’t ruined by the giant bloodstain on it, anyway.

Ian hisses a little as Mickey gently pries his shirt away from his body. It’s sticking in the blood and Mickey purses his lips. “Gonna hurt,” he warns Ian.

“Just do it,” Ian says, gritting his teeth. Mickey rips the fabric away, fast, and Ian chokes down a groan.

“Sorry,” Mickey murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the unbroken skin around the wound. He was definitely right about Ian’s ribs being fucked up. Terry must’ve gotten Ian down on the ground and landed a few kicks—Ian’s bruised all over his left side.

“We’re gonna have to go through all this again when he gets out again,” Ian points out. “Then what?”

Mickey sighs, getting Ian out of his pants. “I don’t know.”

“We need some kind of plan.”

“I know.”

“If we could just—”

“Ian,” Mickey says. Ian stops. He rests his head against Mickey’s.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers.

“You too,” Mickey says, stroking Ian’s side carefully. “I should’ve shot him.”

“There’s no way Hawkins could look the other way if you’d actually shot him,” Ian points out as they get into the shower.

“I guess.”

Mickey helps Ian clean up, and they’re both too drained—and Ian’s too hurt—to do anything besides actually bathe. They get back to Mickey’s room and climb into bed, immediately clinging together under the blankets.

Ian mouths a sloppy, tired kiss to the side of Mickey’s neck and Mickey laces their fingers together.

“Hey,” Ian says as Mickey’s drifting to sleep. Mickey almost wants to tell him to fuck right off with this talking business. “Whatever happens…” He sighs and Mickey feels it ruffle his hair. “We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

For a second, Mickey can’t figure out why the fuck Ian’s saying that. Of course they’ll figure it out together. What else would they do?

But then Mickey realizes what Ian’s really saying. Terry’s back in prison and will be for at least another year, probably. This is Ian making a promise for the future. This is Ian saying _I’m here and I’m staying and I’m not going anywhere_.

“Yeah,” Mickey says around the tight lump in his throat. “Together.”

Mickey closes his eyes, warm in Ian’s arms, and he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://www.biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


End file.
